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I can remember the moment precisely, the exact words that came out of my mouth when my shrink began our regular weekly session by asking how I was feeling:

“I need to be filled.”

The words just spilled out of my mouth. I hadn’t rehearsed, I hadn’t reflected. Never had I acknowledged this feeling, much less articulated it:

Yes, I wanted — indeed, needed! — to be fucked in the ass.

Until that moment, this carnal desire was a well-maintained secret, especially to me. My consciousness always felt a disdain, disgust even, toward anal sex. It seemed to have about as much appeal as a prostate exam or colonoscopy. Plus it was dirty.

But now, having lived full-time as a woman and ingested girlie hormones for nearly a year, I suddenly felt empty, incomplete. Not psychologically, but physically. Deepthroating — which I loved! — would never satisfy my hunger. I needed something more, much more.

The shrink always looked especially wise when he nodded, and he was now nodding vigorously. “What do you mean exactly?” he didn’t have to ask. Not only did he understand, but also I was apparently validating all his long-held theories about male-to-female transsexuals.

So it was that, with the good doctor’s tacit encouragement, I began my anal experiments: tampons, butt plugs, beads, dildos, enemas, lubricants….

My boyfriend at the time, very patient and practiced, helped. The fact that he had a so-enormous-it-was-scary cock helped, too, curiously enough. Sure, it was plenty painful, particularly at first.

But I can’t begin to communicate how incredibly exciting it was to keep the visual image of his huge, thick, hard cock in my mind while he plowed me.

Serendipity! Think of how many splendid things happen in life because of serendipity! Sort of like Kismet…. So much better and more romantic than mere biological necessity….

I remember it as if yesterday, every detail, told and retold in my mind so often that it’s become myth-like in my creation: the first time, the very first time, I bought tampons!

Why, oh why, would a “special girl” like I ever need to buy tampons? Wrong question. As with any unnatural act or unspeakable practice, it has very little to do with “need.” Rather, the correct frame is this: Why would I WANT to buy tampons? And the answer to that is really quite easy:

It happened in my early days of transitioning, always watchful that I wouldn’t “pass,” when one afternoon I was pushing a shopping cart full of necessities at the local grocery store and caught out of the corner of my eye an older woman staring at me. I didn’t acknowledge her gaze, but, instead, pretended to read the various yogurt labels in the refrigerated display case. She continued to stare as I pushed the cart toward the check-out. The quickness of my gait no doubt betrayed my nervousness…and confirmed her doubts.

And then…and then…I happened to spot the display for Tampax Without really thinking, I found my hand casually reaching for a super-sized box and dropping it in my cart. A few more steps brought me to the check-out lane, and the stalker had vanished.

Of course, once I got home in the privacy of my bedroom, since I had paid for them, I had to try them out — using the only hole I had. I’ll mercifully spare you the details of my initial experimentation, but….

I became addicted. I bought boxes and boxes of tampons, testing all makes and sizes. I would go through five or six tampons a day. To feed my addiction, I bought tampons at any store that sold them, so that the clerks at my neighborhood grocery wouldn’t think I had some kind of serious gynecological problem.

For an anal sex virgin, as I was then, the Playtex “Gentle Glide” — yes, most especially the aptly named Gentle Glide! — provided perhaps the friendliest rectal dilator possible for bottom training. It opened the way or primed the pump (which is the better metaphor?) for butt plugs and ever bigger dildos and, yes, of course, eventually, the real thing.

And more, so much more: I found that having a tampon inside of me, underneath my panties and hose, when I went out on a date made me feel so much more naturally, womanly receptive — for the real thing later that evening. And just like a real woman getting ready for the real thing — before I would let his hard cock enter me — I would excuse myself to go quickly to the bathroom, to make myself ready. After discreetly disposing of the tampon, I never felt so clean — my butt-pussy, that is. But the moisture-absorbing tampon also made it feel unusually dry, of course, so I would always be prepared by bringing ample supplies of lubricant in my purse.